


The Lesser Son

by Kartaylir



Category: The Elric Saga - Michael Moorcock
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Always a 63, Extra Treat, F/M, POV First Person, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kartaylir/pseuds/Kartaylir
Summary: From the early journals of Cymoril, Prince of the Dragon Isle and Consort of Empress Elric, the 428th ruler of Melniboné. Regarding the matters leading up to their marriage and the fate of Yyrkoon, Elder Brother to Cymoril.
Relationships: Cymoril/Elric of Melnibone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020, Small FEAR 2020





	The Lesser Son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serenade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenade/gifts).



# 1

## At the Foot of the Ruby Throne:

## Yyrkoon Shows his Disdain

I seat myself upon the steps below the Ruby Throne and stare up at my Empress. She seems formed for it in every shape, her eyes the same deep red as its carved structure, her white hair draped across it in brilliant contrast, stretching down long over the gentle curve of her breasts. She wears black as is her right, velvet stretching high around her pale neck. Her arms are thin lines as they protrude from her robes, slim beneath the weight of the Actorios stone upon one finger.

It is at times such as this that I almost believe her akin to the Green Empress, a most powerful sorceress and born of demons as well as the blood of Imrryr. But were she so the court would welcome her, and instead there is one of many emotions I do not understand cast into the furrow of her brow. Her dragon helm casts shadows across the light within She does not shiver; with herbs and sorcery beyond me she has contained her weakness. And I, Cymoril, least among the Princes of the Dreaming City, cannot help but love her.

But even for her sake I cannot understand the matters that trouble her most, these strange emotions her readings have brought her. But I can guess at the source of them on this night, for it is one that vexes me as well. Yyrkoon dances below us, in perfect rhythm with the concert of screams, and he does not mask his gaze toward me. His disdain that she loves me in turn, when he had ever thought to be Emperor beside her. Above her, for in all his games he has deemed her something to control.

My place is the one he had hoped for, near demanded in how he sought to strip any power from me once I’d caught our cousin’s eye. What need would I, the younger brother, have for great sorcery with such others near me? What cause would I have for guards loyal only to myself?

And yet I cannot help but delight in knowing that I have made him feel threatened, though I do not understand this game they play. Any other ruler of Melniboné would have executed Yyrkoon for his disdain, for how he whispers to his supporters upon the dance floor.

I ignore him as he approaches the throne, sit silent as he wields words like blunted knives. Though they’ve grown sharper on this night. He knows how soon he might be supplanted, and so he speaks until the Dragon Master chides him, until our Empress herself deems his diversion adequate and no longer needed, for why would he ever suspect she’d found the sight of his dancing dull?

The look Yyrkoon gives me as Elric turns away to be cloaked by her old servant is not as gilded as his words. He longs for the Young Kingdoms beneath his feet, for treasures beyond that of dreams and old glory. I almost wish Elric would condemn him to it.

But these are the ways of Melniboné, and that night I know the flesh of the Empress, but not her dreams.

# 2

## A Restless Evening:

## A Battle Follows

I sleep fitfully nonetheless. It is only in the morning when I see Elric poring over old maps and tomes of sorceries I cannot read that I realize something has happened. That the Young Kingdoms finally seek to act on their ambitions. They presume they can face our golden ships and find their way through the maze about the harbor.

As if Melniboné would ever be so easily overcome. And yet there is a strange weight to all of it, like a cloud on the horizon that may herald a dark storm, or may simply fade away in time. I wonder if there is some shadow to all of it, some secret from those tomes she cannot, will not share. If only I had such a blade as to cleave all worry from her.

And so I insist on joining the fleet. Elric will lead us and I will not leave her alone with my brother’s ambition, away from all her needed herbs. Nor would I miss the chance to see her in battle, to see skill with blade and spell alike. And perhaps to reassure myself that she has mastery of them beyond what Yyrkoon can match. After all, he’s ensured I have no great sorcery of my own. Merely what favors I can gain from the small elementals and that only in secret.

And then in due time our great golden ship sets out amid the building fog. It is nearly silent, and I cannot help but glance about at the other ships, the bare stretches of stone that build this portion of the maze. I’ve not seen this perspective before. Not seen the tall towers of the Dreaming city jut up above the maze’s edge, how they cast their shadows down over slaves and dreamers alike.

I stand at Elric’s side to watch her, and with every moment to wonder at the thoughts which must occur beneath her sharp features. She’s said such strange things about the Young Kingdoms, at times even wished to see them.

But then the ships are passing up, making their way further into the maze. I can feel the rhythm of oars and drums from beneath my feet as we move from our hidden place to ram them. 

The battle is short, blood and men cast down into the water from split ships. I barely even draw my sword before their survivors flee, and then we’re off in pursuit at Yyrkoon’s urging. In such a moment I find myself wishing we had the dragons at our command, but they all still sleep to replenish their venom. 

Our Empress chases the pitiful men with us, those fools of the Young Kingdoms that had dared to oppose Melniboné. I raise an argument with her on that only briefly. For what a sight she is in battle: black-armored with a hero’s sword, with the dragon helm dark against the white of her hair.

In this sight of her I deem myself feeble, and know that Yyrkoon has sought to keep me from strength. Fort I could not hold forth as she does, carving the hand off one foe, the head another, burying her sword in chests just long enough to steal the breath from them.

Only my brother comes close to matching her. And he does not depend on herbs to keep him from tiring.

Then I must defend myself, as two men in little more than cloth and spilled blood charge toward me. I block the first one’s blade, step back to dodge the other, and a third joins them as they push me ever closer to the ship’s edge. 

I see Yyrkoon turn toward me, but his smile is no offer of aid. A rough-hewn sword dents my armor even as I cost one of the men a hand for the actions of his ally. And then, I step back as the ship rocks, as I see them attempting to turn what little remains of their fleet to charge us.

There is no deck beneath me, and I fall. The spirits of air and water, if they show me any kindness at all, only do enough to slow the impact. And how happily my brother watches. I had expected something more subtle from a Prince of Melniboné, but it seems Yyrkoon will grant me no such courtesy.

Elric is covered in blood and yet I can see her hand shaking as I sink. She must return to Imrryr soon. She must—

Water rushes up next to me as she throws herself from the ship. I can see her mouthing something as we sink below the waves, but I cannot hear it as our armor draws us downward.

# 3

## Elric's Sorcery:

## The Sea King's Aid

I awaken in another realm. Water surrounds me and yet I can breathe through it, see faintly through the odd-tinged light. Nearby, Elric converses with the shadow of a massive figure, a figure all blue and teal in a shape with the tail of a fish and the head of a man. _King Straashaa_ , I think, and with that I finally understand what has happened.

She must have called the elementals, as is her right. And yet even among the imperial line there have only ever been a few who could have done such while drowning and betrayed. Whatever favor the elementals hold for me is too small to have mattered here.

I try to swim toward her, and yet seem never to draw close until she in turn moves toward me. 

“They will return us to the Imrryr,” she says, and there is something of those strange emotions again in her face. I do not understand them, and yet how could I help but to love them as I love her?

“You’ll have to kill Yyrkoon,” I say, the words drawn out through the water around us. “He’ll not give this up so easily.”

By the furrow of her brow I fear she’ll hesitate. So I continue on. “He’ll kill me.” It is only her favor that has defended me until now. I reach for the hilt of my sword to reassure myself and realize that it is gone, lost to the bottom of one sea or another.

And we have no more time for words, for the Sea King has sent us through rushing through tunnels of coral and mother-of-pearl, until we find ourselves again in our own world. Until we find ourselves at a small cove just outside the gates of Imrryr.

# 4

## Of Vengeance:

## A Death to Grant my Life

The streets are quiet when we arrive, the city dreaming. They’ve not started the mourning yet, for the Princes do not race through the streets, the slaves have not had their throats shaped to perform only a dirge for an Empress lost. Or else we’re so late to have missed it, time twisted around us from another realm.

We know where Yyrkoon will be. He’s eyed the throne for so long. I expect his dreams are made of golden ships and carved ruby, of dragons breathing fire over the Young Kingdoms.

Not that he had ever spoken to me of such things. Of anything of merit.

Elric leads us onward. She knows all the secret paths, the tunnels and words left subject to the will of the Emperor. If any would tell my brother of them, then they have not done so yet. We find Tanglebones first, and from Elric’s servant are granted dry clothes and enough food to calm our stomachs.

Yyrkoon is a dark shadow on the ruby throne, surrounded by guards in silver and blue armor, or gold and green. I can see those who were once my guards among the latter, though one of the younger among them is bruised with no sword at his side.

“Cousin,” Yyrkoon says. “I’m glad you survived, we were distraught when you slipped overboard.” He motions to the guards, and they circle around us, but do not drop their weapons.

“When I chose to follow the brother you’d cast adrift. Did you think I’d abandon my beloved Cymoril so easily?” Elric’s voice is sharp and low, with the whisper of danger behind it. The half-echo of unknown words. 

My brother’s expression darkens. “So it is him you chose?”

The guards draw their swords, all save the one without one. He takes a step back, turns to my side as Elric draws her blade in turn. Hair streams down her back, white against her armor, and I know the room will be filled with the crimson of her eyes soon as well.

It does not take long. I did not see her servant slip her some herbs, but he must have, or else the elementals granted her this strength for the battle ahead. The lean muscles of her arms show no sign of weakness, and there’s a ferocity in her eyes that makes me wonder if she alone could achieve all the things my brother has not. Perhaps she could call upon even Arioch himself.

The guards fall easily before her: one with his armor cleaved over his chest, another with blood pouring from his throat, a third blinded by the shards of the blade he’d held. Yes, I cannot help but think that she could achieve anything within the world.

Some of the guards step back at this, drop their blades in the hope bloodlust has not taken her. Yyrkoon roars with rage and steps forth to face Elric, and then I see the flash of different armor in the doorway. Dyvim Tvar has come; he is loyal to the last. 

And so I do not favor the chances of our foes. Nor does Yyrkoon, for he turns to flee. I wonder if surprise has taken him so aback at our return. He is no middling swordsman, and on a normal day I might expect him to make a hard battle of it with the Empress.

This is no normal day when we return with our expressions fell and undying. 

“Stand aside,” I say to one of the witless guards nearby. He stares, vision occupied by a floor dyed as red as the ruby throne.

Then the unarmed guard, perhaps the only one who’d held any loyalty to me rather than my brother, picks up one of the abandoned blades and holds it out to me hilt first. He is the only one to see my intent, for I have finally come to one sole intent of my own. 

Yyrkoon does not see my blade, for what need has he ever had to truly fear me? He gasps with a sword through his back and blood on his lips, attempting to whisper some sorcery that does not come to fruition. The guards still, and Elric looks back to me with surprise, with that other emotion I still cannot name.

“Grant me his death as a wedding gift,” I say, and let my brother fall as I move to kneel before her. To admire all that crowns her in blood and ebony, crimson layered upon pale hair and sharp cheekbones. “For I have made of him all that he wished to inflict upon me.”

She is quiet at that, and then she smiles. “You know already I would not deny you, beloved Cymoril.” With a wave of her hand Yyrkoon’s body shifts and then falls still again. When I dare to look I see that she has changed what remains of him into a statue, flesh shaped as if he were merely a slave and yet with something more. “His death shall be swift, his failure clear. A warning to be displayed at our wedding feast.”

And in that moment it felt as if my whole world had been returned to me. I shall rule beside her, and in time my brother and his ambitions shall be forgotten. What need have we of the Young Kingdoms and their youthful follies? With Elric at my side I shall not even require the comfort of dreams.


End file.
